Concordance

This concordance provides an index to every word in the poems, excluding a list of common "stopwords". It may be useful in finding a half-remembered poem, and perhaps in looking at the usage of words in the poems as a whole. It will be readable only on a large screen.

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

K

lorious hope they’ll trumpet forth your

K . // // So when the silver thief (who always came // // on Thursday

Compass Reading

lie to you like a dog, like Shaitan or

Kafir soft in your ear, and I can change. if it will make you fall in

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

// three recipes for Prometheus (a lá

Kafka ) // // first, secure firmly to large rock, add eagle and serve

Kansas , anymore // // I watched my grandfather die in his voice. hurr

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

are you afraid do you // // understand

Karagiozis the lantern // // behind a stretched sheet, can you feel t

t some point, still. // // Don’t worry

Karl we have a program for the picking now: // // For there she was:

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

/ in a kitchen that isn’t yours. // //

Kat couldn’t do Tuesdays, so you covered instead— // // put out the b

// At first I used to wish that I were

Keats // // And then I wished I’d been one of the Beats // // I’d be

nd sample every sort // // from Creamy

keats with his mossed cottage trees // // tasting the words themselve

Cheese is the medium

got loose and ran through an alley with

keef , kefir, with champagne on the nightstand, and four dozen roses I

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

// The wind that blusters is strangely

keen . // // A dance, hypnotic; long, yet savour it // // The leaves

s, // // Whose sibling stood guard (to

keep access barred) // // In a stench that should make her a sick sis

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

n Mars. // // What wary orbits we must

keep // // Around our dying sun, // // Falling towards the verge of

The Daily Planet

has wolf-eyes in the rain. Their irises

keep breaking // // me, and so I build myself like honeycomb. Wax mig

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

e body? Did you, or did you not, // //

Keep digging— // // All night— // // I kept digging. The sun rose, /

Did you bury her yet?

friend // // —cancer, poor dear, we’ll

keep her in our prayers— // // sweep the kitchen floor and the leaves

time. // // Slow down your breathing.

Keep it deep and slow. // // Become an open singing-bowl, whose chime

enduring is our failure, // // Let us

keep it near. // //

Ode to a map of the world

hose dog slept on // // their chest to

keep it warm // // or the ones holding hands // // as the sun disapp

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

to a comforting face that could // //

keep its humour through elegy and tragedy, could // // smile and teas

Sestina to an English Teacher

t’s bigger and fitter // // And should

keep me going for—wait…! // // DAEDALUS // // I blame the King’s fir

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

lumly. “I // // need a new project to

keep me in trim— // // now the Gurkhas are happy—some shiny erection

Troubled waters

// No promise of a BA gown // // can

keep me warm, // // but I shall not despair // // now men can come t

A Room of Her Own

I can feel that she is there, // // I

keep my eyes closed. // // My Grandmother sits in the corner, // //

n. // // Here in Higgs’ Field // // I

keep my eyes peeled, // // For each mil-billionth strike // // Might

Small Particles in the Small Hours

t one item on my list. // // Trying to

keep on course, despite // // The best attempts of two wheels // /

The Notes You Have Left

nt—a short play // // O, // // MUST i

keep on going round in // // CIRCLES must i keep on going // // ROUN

the windmill’s lament—a short play

on going round in // // CIRCLES must i

keep on going // // ROUND in circles must i keep on // // GOING till

the windmill’s lament—a short play

on going // // ROUND in circles must i

keep on // // GOING till i break? // // DO i have to keep repeating

the windmill’s lament—a short play

ng today, // // As in, // // Today, I

keep remembering. // // Maybe it’s a lacuna of my // // sleepless mi

l’esprit d’escalier

l’esprit d’escalier // // I

keep remembering today, // // As in, // // Today, I keep remembering

l’esprit d’escalier

to keep repeating // // keep repeating

keep repeating // // DO i have to, without ceasing, // // without re

the windmill’s lament—a short play

// DO i have to keep repeating // //

keep repeating keep repeating // // DO i have to, without ceasing, //

the windmill’s lament—a short play

GOING till i break? // // DO i have to

keep repeating // // keep repeating keep repeating // // DO i have t

the windmill’s lament—a short play

in the abyss. // // In the darkness I

keep rewriting ‘is this the poem?’ // // Let the treasure maps go Mar

scratch of green biro. // // I have to

keep running to feel I’m going somewhere. // // Reality eats // // s

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

aused by your palm on mine. // // I’ll

keep these unspecific love poems to myself, // // Hoping one day you’

I’ll never work for Hallmark

obsessed obsidian. // // The Sun will

keep turning. We just need to stay here. // // Right? // // All Mary

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

// but secretly hope there is. // // I

keep us cold in a glass jar // // at our heart's core. // // Helium

er // // at our heart’s core. // // I

keep us cold in a glass jar, // // but secretly hope there is // //

d, and remote— // // His angel sisters

keep watch over // // The stillness of their mother’s house. // // T

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

s stopped ringing.] / [If only it would

keep you here]. // // Thanks for today. It was nice seeing each other

Whales sing because they have a song

like your cards, dear, and never // //

Keep your cards in hand after you’re quite done; // // Discard and sh

// My home appears, a home that I can

keep . // // Your Fair Isle-knit embrace invites me in. // // Like ev

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

es trump the game, and then dear // //

Keep your wits about you and your hand sleight // // And don’t count

uardian of his life // // Is still the

keeper of his soul. // // And so, unknown to anyone, // // This stil

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

The boy without a face. // // His only

keepers were the fox, // // Crouching in the purple phlox, // // The

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

/ Making Gaelics in the kitchen, // //

Keeping her mind together // // While we’re all fixing // // Absence

Wild Mountain Thyme

on // // Another song. // // Granny’s

keeping herself busy // // Making Gaelics in the kitchen, // // Keep

Wild Mountain Thyme

(the // // buy-in from business is not

keeping pace) // // —but Sadik the Most Evil deposes poor Boris, and

Troubled waters

she said] // // No point, she said, in

keeping the old girls— // // Grey in the wattle, scabbed about the ar

[No point, she said]

came water. The moon was the only thing

keeping the sky in place, you see, because the stars felt so sorry for

[So the moon was there]

eached walls stare into pale skin, each

keeping the warmth // // In while the branch outside knocks, drum-lik

Snapshot Endings

// // Monday night, the tv on, // //

keeping us tied to the hundrum: // // you watching and I, lamely, pre

// Because the wave is a chain, // //

Keeping you from moving, // // Clanking, as you try to disappear. //

// // It’s a roar in your head and it

keeps getting louder and louder // // And you can’t stand it and you

iphons off and binds me here // // And

keeps me earthed, but, if I could be free // // You know there’s noth

/ the myth of glass, // // but my gaze

keeps slipping // // to the ghosts which drift behind me, // // sway

ose and ran through an alley with keef,

kefir , with champagne on the nightstand, and four dozen roses I once d

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

a thrifty fox-thought, golden delighted

kept at bay from the quiet and rustling examination halls. // // This

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

eyond the realm // // Of serfs, and so

kept away // // From the elm- // // Wood door, not daring // // To

/ While propped against the tree trunk,

kept cool in the shade // // My brother beside me, companiable but mu

ept digging. The sun rose, // // And I

kept digging, lungs // // Burning. Listen, kid: // // Broken ribs ar

Did you bury her yet?

eep digging— // // All night— // // I

kept digging. The sun rose, // // And I kept digging, lungs // // Bu

Did you bury her yet?

// ‘it’s ail road rail road!’ // // he

kept on talking // // and couldn’t be stopped // // he loved it… cro

// the driver yelled ‘quiet’ // // we

kept on talking // // I noticed the sign said // // ‘take care, ail

ound fell the fruit to me, // // That

kept the words so secretly. // //

The Tree of Wisdom

they did over the sea. I lay awake and

kept them company with honey // // sweetened coffee, a palimpsest of

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

// that little gap where we had always

kept // // your compass with its swinging fleur-de-lys // // watched

Compass Reading

nkind inactions told you otherwise, you

kept your faith // // that all of life still boils down to love. //

g, burning brighter now // // that her

kerosene eyes have lost their heat // // and the snows and skies of m

why i’m getting into Christmas

I’d been one of the Beats // // I’d be

Kerouac or Dylan // // If my muse were only willin’ // // I’d be On

he window, on the patio table, // // a

kestrel is plucking the flunked corpse: // // discarding the moving-y

Your life defined by the whistle of the

kettle ; // // Rhythmed by the clink-clink-clink of teaspoons against

aws are pots and pans, // // Pitchers,

kettles , glassware, cruets, // // Vases, ash trays, cups, and bowls.

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

w // // Angel’s feet once, through the

key hole. // // That was before she was old enough // // To join the

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

e locking the door and we’re losing the

key . // // If you aimed a card, or a note, or a cry // // too carele

The Dead Letter Office closes down

we unscroll your youth // // When ash-

keyed branches dipped and prayed // // Not to hollows, but hellos—the

ers on // // the switch, grabs her car-

keys , // // handbag, puts her sneakers on, // // downs a double shot

[the typist puts her knickers on]

h our own concerns. // // I’ve lost my

keys ; I’ve lost my way; // // I’ve had my chance—I have no more— //

// so I can shift my gaze // // from

keys to coots // // while trying to turn a phrase // // or check a r

A Room of Her Own

ses // // Like the paperwork holds the

keys to victory, // // Like they’ll protect us when our cosy lives ex

is the poem? // // On Valentines Day a

kick from the stomach, the tender // // Violence of a body’s ripening

past ten. // // Here’s lookin’ at you,

kid . // //

A Hymn to a Loved One

ou bury her yet? // // // // Listen,

kid : are you, or are you not, // // The boy in the poem? // // He kn

Did you bury her yet?

// Broken ribs aren’t worth it, // //

Kid : bandages aren’t for this kind of wound, // // Kid: you’re twenty

Did you bury her yet?

digging, lungs // // Burning. Listen,

kid : // // Broken ribs aren’t worth it, // // Kid: bandages aren’t f

Did you bury her yet?

over it. You swim or you drown, // //

Kid . She swims and you drown. // //

Did you bury her yet?

s aren’t for this kind of wound, // //

Kid : you’re twenty-four years old. // // Get over it. You swim or you

Did you bury her yet?

crane. // // Bums are falling off our

kids : ruthless in cutting off waste! // // Fairy-free gardens have as

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

es // // Or habits while you bike your

kids to school. // // Pointy hats—and couplets—fade like leaves // /

In Defence of Evolution

ched spine, // // do you remember what

Kierkegaard said, // // am I everything you hate in yourself, // //

// “But life is for the living, do not

kill // // another day.” // // And yet you stay // // inside my hea

ve nothing intact. As in, if it doesn’t

kill me // // I at least want to be rendered catatonic by the impact.

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

m-pom instead. // // But that wouldn’t

kill the dead. // // They are stuck in agelessness; // // She has to

// // Look, the sun is dead. // // I

killed it then, just then. // // Inside it was a nothing anyway, //

[So snow falls outside]

alist offices. // // Soldiers making a

killing on the stock exchange // // So we can line pockets and grease

f this one fits, but // // It misfits,

kills a bell in a burning crucible. // // The cat yowls, and it all c

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

mber grown aloft, // // My skin feels ’

kin to a burning fire’s waft, // // Sizzling at every edge and spitti

[What have we done]

ved for his funny // // As well as his

Kind . // // Higgledy Piggledy // // Brideshead Revisited: // // Nos

or feel your fragile form. // // What

kind of fool deceives himself like this? // //

The chicken and the egg

ween my toes, // // Obsessive over the

kind of love they want reserved // // For romance but I am too porous

[I am almost 25 years old]

t, // // Kid: bandages aren’t for this

kind of wound, // // Kid: you’re twenty-four years old. // // Get ov

Did you bury her yet?

// // bright, pale yellow, // // the

kind that shines through your // // skin in the sunshine. // // I pr

Bright, Pale Yellow

ed this specimen of sadness, // // the

kind that still refracts through your eyes. // // As the sky began se

y began seeping liquid gold, // // the

kind that still refracts through your eyes. // // I’m not sure when w

ll, // // hush, presents, crib, Christ

Kind : // // tree aspark and fizzing, in a cavern // // so unknown bu

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

// Of some perversion of a submissive

kind // // Which three therapists and a college counsellor failed to

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

ended to old men when young, // // The

kind who’d spent a lifetime in the pit // // And come away with bruis

was only— // // is only—the memory of

kind words // // fixed to a comforting face that could // // keep it

Sestina to an English Teacher

it will not rain. // // your ribs are

kindling ; breathe in, strike a match: // // the matter’s so compacted

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

d, for the very first time, // // Were

kindred panters of the air; // // The dead lived on in my genes and m

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

ys // // —or should have been—for many

kinds of loving. // // Did I love enough? use every day? // // Days

rcloured skies, the moon could never be

king . And I was king // // // // You were king? // //

[So the moon was there]

orn again. The festival // // Of a boy-

king // // Is but one of many. // // The year is born again. The fes

Before Christmas

by Middle-Eastern tales // // Of a boy-

king . // // Seeming deathless, // // The year is born again. The fes

Before Christmas

/ You are just biology. // // I am the

king that buried the world; // // The only map of his kingdom perfect

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

was king // // // // You were

king ? // // Yes, I was. I was there with my crown pulled tightl

[So the moon was there]

the moon could never be king. And I was

king // // // // You were king? // // Yes, I was. I wa

[So the moon was there]

ixteen forty-five // // Has purged the

kingdom , and its men, with fire. // // Come with your houndsmen to th

Sixteen Forty-Five

d the world; // // The only map of his

kingdom perfect enough // // (For you) had to be // // Identical. //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

ar, the Tudor seal, it binds // // One

kingdom with another, fire with fire. // // Its five red petals breed

Sixteen Forty-Five

s and palaces, sanity // // of men and

kings —all rot away, while night // // brings rumbling forest drums th

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

it…! // // DAEDALUS // // I blame the

King’s first commission // // He just saw in me a magician // // Who

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

h, a hexagram // // Of blazing damage.

Kinship , threat, and fire // // Contend for right in sixteen forty-fi

Sixteen Forty-Five

of stone // // the size of an ancient

kin’s era // // he sees my lips as archaeological tools // // extrac

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

’ Is this the poem? // // Last night’s

kiss a broken bridge—now we’re both in the abyss. // // In the darkne

Kiss ] // // A farewell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We know we ca

[A Farewell Kiss]

ne— // // Perhaps just one more little

kiss , // // A farewell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We know we ca

[A Farewell Kiss]

iss and then we’re done // // One last

kiss ,—and another one— // // Perhaps just one more little kiss, // /

[A Farewell Kiss]

ell—our time is gone, // // A farewell

kiss and then we’re done // // One last kiss,—and another one— // //

[A Farewell Kiss]

[A Farewell Kiss] // // A farewell

kiss —and then we’re done, // // We know we can’t go on like this. //

[A Farewell Kiss]

one more little kiss, // // A farewell

kiss —and then we’re done, // // We know we can’t go on like this… //

[A Farewell Kiss]

[cyclamen in purple bursts

kiss compost] // // cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost // // mus

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

mpost] // // cyclamen in purple bursts

kiss compost // // mushroom-tiled and moss-gilded // // a summerwake

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

ng bell // // And stretch and yawn and

kiss me. All is well. // //

ing, and I swum back to you—wait, don’t

kiss me, I’m trying to finish the story. And I swam back to you, and y

[So the moon was there]

ir cut day-short, // // blowing a cool

kiss , // // prone on a white toboggan, // // doubling your speed,

Slide past lips // // Mellow touch, a

kiss // // Then our eyes meet // //

despair, dream // // Of lips never to

kiss // // There’s none to hold you // // Here’s Thanatos to claim y

[Red-hot and tear-

kissed ] // // Red-hot and tear-kissed under mask // // with steel mi

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

nd tear-kissed] // // Red-hot and tear-

kissed under mask // // with steel miles ahead in wait // // and the

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

ago, // // Feet, turning, past sloppy

kisses // // And out the door. // //

er in an unbreakable twist // // their

kisses aren’t words // // and the great big massive enormous wide uni

Same but differenT

ss // // Of searching eyes and violent

kisses // // To adjust myself, realise // // That Life’s not all dri

w, // // catches my eye as I enter the

kitchen : // // a dove, sprawled wide in its this— // // is-my-belove

ep her in our prayers— // // sweep the

kitchen floor and the leaves off the drive, // // do the Sainsburys’

and jars? // // What meaning in these

kitchen goods? // // He never tells. But in each piece // // The inn

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

rself busy // // Making Gaelics in the

kitchen , // // Keeping her mind together // // While we’re all fixin

Wild Mountain Thyme

/ // Barbiturates for the beauties and

kitchen ovens for the fraught, // // She’ll sell the pearls in her mo

l the breath of Russia // // (even the

kitchen sink bears witness // // to Soviet columns of ice). // // Bu

why i’m getting into Christmas

or strength, head in hands, // // in a

kitchen that isn’t yours. // // Kat couldn’t do Tuesdays, so you cove

ng tips, // // Individually wrapped in

kitchen towel. // // One by one, // // I hold these things in my han

: // // Wind-beat cotton, holes at the

knee , // // Day into day, into day // // Into night. Try not to thin

I could never be (ready)

versions, // // Soldering patches over

kneed corduroys, // // Moulded by no volcanic hand // // Other than

Frighteningly Inert

ting with the glass and falling, // //

Kneeling on a cushion of broken shards, // // All that remains is dri

dipping his hands // // For ablutions,

kneels on the slender deck, makes oblations // // Of shorn hair and c

reaking // // into damp dust around my

knees and my smile breaking // // into laughter, before stumbling bar

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

how I don’t enjoy a yoga class until my

knees are at my ears, // // and I feel like if I rock back and inch,

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

here softly, crumpled at the elbows and

knees . But the moon looked so sad that I stayed there for hours and ho

[So the moon was there]

ves, // // A paradise lost between her

knees . // // Feet anointed and seven demons rise, // // Let him with

nd again, // // And stop falling to my

knees . // // It doesn’t seem so strange to me // // That any given A

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

// What I know now is not then what I

knew . // //

You were not there, // // That’s all I

knew , // // And now you never are. // // Nothing all day nothing //

[So snow falls outside]

// I’ll hide behind my Wyatt today who

knew // // Existing on hot coals blisters the feet // // Just when I

/ // The sky was blue. // // That she

knew , had known all along // // It seemed, only it wasn’t blue today,

[The sun flattened]

ught was you // // Dear Alan, // // I

knew he couldn’t have been you // // Dear Alan, // // I hope this fi

table’s edge, // // Awaited those who

knew how to be guests. // // The page, like linen freshly laid for te

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

place // // Will come back to you. You

knew it all along, it seems. // // And we can walk smugly, the both o

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

gledy // // Allan S. Konigsberg // //

Knew that he wouldn’t // // Go far with that name. // // Made the de

/ Like a Wiccan would wait, because she

knew // // That such a thing as Spring would come again. // // Ostar

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

long ago // // It was, before we ever

knew the flow // // And ebb of love like beaches touched by waves //

[My face is old now]

Cascade start. // // Behind the flow I

knew there to be ice, // // For such cold worlds do not let flowing b

[What have we done]

ds mocking your condition—if // // you

knew we saw you through your words // // and your sardonic jokes, cou

Sestina to an English Teacher

ng voice call: ‘who’s that?’ and no-one

knew . // // You joined relations that they also threw // // Into the

[the typist puts her

knickers on] // // the typist puts her knickers on // // turns off t

[the typist puts her knickers on]

knickers on] // // the typist puts her

knickers on // // turns off the record, flickers on // // the switch

[the typist puts her knickers on]

member - // // What if he had got that

knife in? Is this the poem? // // Strange loops writhe inside, nightm

oin my sweat and flesh below, // // My

knife no place to cling, my life to stow. // // I swim through slush

[What have we done]

h the least of concern, // // once the

knife scores the surface, finds a snag, and then turns— // // shearin

at are where we begin. // // After the

knife , there follows the scar, // // and after the scissors, well, th

— // // And reel in my return once I’d

knifed him. // // The problem’s the girl once it’s over; // // There

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

sh, // // Revealing smokey lines of my

knife’s end. // // I’m roped on to the source, luminate, warm, // //

[What have we done]

ion mapp’d by playing drums. // // One

knife’s whisk’d out my hand, flies back and falls; // // The other co

[What have we done]

that I can keep. // // Your Fair Isle-

knit embrace invites me in. // // Like everything you wear, of course

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

ain of eccentric professors or men with

knitted jumpers // // (big ideas on rocks and bones in the ground), /

Bearded Thoughts

face we meet with Blight, // // Whose

knived line carv’s out a trace, a Well // // Cascading in with all it

[What have we done]

w my light is stored, and the slightest

knock bleeds a honey // // that will never wash from my hands. I guar

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

and Thucydides. // // My visitors all

knock . // // We share hot chocolate, // // play tennis on the lawn,

A Room of Her Own

n. Breaking // // slowly, I’m about to

knock when the dream drops my hand through // // the air, and back to

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

s // // Murdered his father // // And

knocked up his mum. // // Question his fitness as // // Paterfamilia

in my head, // // that old haunt still

knocking about breaking // // things scratching walls hiding under be

rmth // // In while the branch outside

knocks , drum-like, // // Pounding out a rhythm in harmony with cold m

Snapshot Endings

g and half holding fast: // // A green

knot slowly untying // // Itself from the hardened winter nut // //

wooden wave-shapes // // dipping into

knot warps and sanded-down blemishes) // // To imagine // // (your c

rld swam occasionally, // // Left hand

knotted in a white tissue, // // The right hanging, something sad ins

[The sun flattened]

althily // // And know the simple tie,

knotted with pride // // And ironed shirt that flows uneasily // //

/ A joke, // // Or the place I used to

know . // // All I know is that the age of legends is reduced to dropl

t is he like? What is his name? I don’t

know and could only marvel: he exists, he exists, in the combustion of

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

’d already swallowed it. // // I

know , and that’s how it saved me. The moon filled the bits of my skin

[So the moon was there]

// Coordinated purpose which only they

know best, // // As we linger in our lovely, darkening bowers // //

[Walcott begins Omeros]

stone. // // I will die here. // // I

know . // // But not yet. // // Each step is pain // // With wings

My Frost-bit ears resound with words I

know . // // (How many miles to go till I can sleep?) // // But then,

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

// Imprisoned in this cauldron we must

know // // How miniscule we are, before we form // // Idea that we

I can know these everythings and never

know how they made you (do this). // //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

oetry came from It, as we do not really

know how to create poetry or account for its spontaneous creation. Loo

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

he is having an affair. // // Like I’d

know // // I think— // // He is no loathsome sprezzateur // // Nor

aled. // // Confused and worn, I don’t

know if I’m here. // // My form: beauty induced in smears of paint. /

The chicken and the egg

the place I used to know. // // All I

know is that the age of legends is reduced to droplets of pity wept by

ars all before, while bearing all we’ll

know ; // // Its megallanic stream expands to form // // A Universe o

igner with // // boldness and vision—I

know just the man. // // He has built me some buses which boosted my

Troubled waters

// I will die here, I think. // // I

know not if this is an abyss, // // A joke, // // Or the place I use

// // Cruel one! Forgive me! // // I

know not what I’ve done! // // This passion! // // Compassion! // /

/ // Nothing can stand for itself, you

know , nothing can even be a thing without anything, // // For somethi

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ak, as this oak tree grew // // What I

know now is not then what I knew. // //

/ // And clotting on my neck. // // I

know now you walk as a man angel hunter. // // I could vomit // // B

// I could die here, I think. // // I

know now your real name. // // I could fold my shattered wings // //

illion years from this. Yet few’ll then

know , // // Or knowing grasp, those glaciers of flame. // // To meas

// // Expanding in a bubble that you

know // // Soaped Titan in his bath. He loved the light // // Refrac

indly for a white flag. // // “I don’t

know ” spills from my lips in a constant litany, // // Until my shame

ch you should aspire, // // Do you not

know that mercy // // Is the spider’s web that catches the spider? //

flocks of starlings, sparrows, swallows

know // // that one for all and all for one is right // // a living

Now, days become shorter // // And we

know that soon, // // Another flock of birds will settle— // // Conf

Magnetic Mountain

g other than our circled self. // // I

know the angels were the first to fall, // // Cherub and Seraph spira

The Cutting Edge

/ // Protest the by-pass if the Vogons

know // // The earth is mostly harmless, with a past // // Of teleph

ld and forgotten // // Ah what do they

know ? // // “The Romans were honest // // they thought it was all //

lack shoes emerge stealthily // // And

know the simple tie, knotted with pride // // And ironed shirt that f

tos to claim you, // // You will never

know the wilderness of mirrors // // For you there is naught but this

hed, but, if I could be free // // You

know there’s nothing that I’d rather wear // // Than the crease of yo

icking inside an elevator. // // I can

know these everythings and never know how they made you (do this). //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

in. // // But out there in the dark we

know they lurk, // // We sense their stench, as stealing through the

ell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We

know we can’t go on like this… // //

[A Farewell Kiss]

ell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We

know we can’t go on like this. // // Farewell—farewell—our time is go

[A Farewell Kiss]

onserved and published, now at last you

know // // We hold you treasure, evermore to teach. // //

t drink anything without it. // // You

know what I mean. // // Course. // // You always alone? // // Not i

Whales sing because they have a song

is showing us the scene // // —does he

know what it is she sees? The frame // // he chose has cut us off fr

Cape Cod Morning

looking // // I don’t

know what makes art Art // // maybe it’s that once I’ve seen it // /

t // // And become the moons before we

know // // What time it is, before we can stretch across // // To th

to disappear— // // But still I don’t

know which way is home. // // My still eyes make their movement stati

of sea intervene. // // The horizon, I

know , won’t let me forget— // // That is its place, to encroach— //

I could never be (ready)

y bird, unseen by any eye. // // And I

know you are there, amongst them all. // // They took you away, at ni

[My face is old now]

art. // // No, we quite understand. We

know you can’t stay long // // And must stay silent for your public w

example in your death. // // Curst to

know yourself, vain paragon, // // Your tears will recreate Cocytus

Things a man should

know // // You’re obtuse—and a pain. Now PLEASE listen again // //

Things a man should know

m this. Yet few’ll then know, // // Or

knowing grasp, those glaciers of flame. // // To measure scale for su

/ You’re already looking at me, somehow

knowing , // // Somehow wisdom in fresh eyes showing. // // Somehow y

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

// lost like all beauty. // // But

knowing that to hold on // // would tarnish it all I can do // // is

e seeing the wood for the balsa, // //

knowing the great hereafter for elsewhere. // // Athlete’s foot, Achi

ame As You. Maybe The Only Thing Is…The

Knowin ’ // //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

/ And pilfer the noble classes’ ancient

knowledge . // // I think again of coal-dust in the chest. // // If h

rs from the past, encrypted // // in a

knowledge of the reader that was me. // // In an old book I see a yel

side you are a million pages, // // Of

knowledge yet to be explored, // // I crave to be equal to your wisd

The Tree of Wisdom

sky was blue. // // That she knew, had

known all along // // It seemed, only it wasn’t blue today, // // It

[The sun flattened]

Should // // I should have

known by now, this feeling. // // Stomach, clenching, so hard the but

is so familiar // // yet I have never

known you before. // // I could stay a hundred years // // With this

// // I can swim. He knows, // // He

knows — // // Did you, or did you not, hide // // The body? Did you,

Did you bury her yet?

nd like, he knows // // I can swim. He

knows , // // He knows— // // Did you, or did you not, hide // // Th

Did you bury her yet?

say never, never forgive him // // He

knows , he knows what he is doing // // Again. // // Men are too fool

; he knows // // What I sound like, he

knows // // I can swim. He knows, // // He knows— // // Did you, or

Did you bury her yet?

ot see // // The sea // // And yet he

knows // // It cannot be // // Less than close by. // //

, // // The boy in the poem? // // He

knows I’m here; he knows // // What I sound like, he knows // // I c

Did you bury her yet?

, never forgive him // // He knows, he

knows what he is doing // // Again. // // Men are too foolish to fea

the poem? // // He knows I’m here; he

knows // // What I sound like, he knows // // I can swim. He knows,

Did you bury her yet?

you, // // Concealed beneath ‘I don’t

know ’ defence, // // Reflex that deflects skilful asking darts, // /

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

pe-shifting, whispers ‘there is more to

know ’. // // Imprisoned in this cauldron we must know // // How mini

lowing vein, // // Running between the

knuckles of your // // Ring and middle finger, // // Taste the lies

Fall for————

ed in paint? // // How many years your

kohl eyes must have stared // // Watching new generations play. Then

/ // Higgledy Piggledy // // Allan S.

Konigsberg // // Knew that he wouldn’t // // Go far with that name.

e stripped enough. one day I get to cry

Kri’at Shema lying down. I get unbelief. one day I will be calx and cu

we’re not in Kansas, anymore